


Of Us, For Us

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Chinese Food, Clint is a child, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Superhusbands, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, literally he watches disney all day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9437519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: Electronics may not be his forte, but the lab was a mix of  so many different works of art, the most prominent very possibly being its creator."You can go now."His eyes shifted back up at the mechanic, who was now giving him an expectant look."Yeah...right...okay..." He awkwardly stammered out, quickly turning on his heel and power walking out of the lab.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my archives. Thought I might finish and post it.

A loud, siren-like sound broke through his racing thoughts, and he turned to the small vibrating block on his desk. The screen was lit up with a large 10:35 front and center as it shifted slightly on the table from its own vibrations. He let out a sigh and picked up the small device, dismissing the alarm. Light blue eyes shifted back to the desk centered in the room, simply staring down at a blank page.

He should go back to his apartment, it wasn't like he was really needed in the office anyway. For him the room was really just for show, considering that he didn't actually do any work (file some reports maybe, but that didn’t have to be done in an office). 

The blank page that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of was a page of his sketch book. It had been sitting there just waiting for him to mark it with graphite and/or charcoal for the past 1, 2...3 hours maybe? He lost count two daydreams ago.

He'd been struggling with ideas, inspiration for a sketch. Not that such a thing wasn't completely unusual, considering he hadn't moved from the one spot for almost the whole day. Inspiration was made by sight, by movement, by life, so really it was more strange for him not to have moved at all. 

Steve rarely went to the office, and when he did he took constant breaks, even if they were just to take a short walk around the base. (Steve never fancied office life, it made him feel trapped and claustrophobic.) Although, he supposed the term “breaks” was relative due to the lack of work being done in the first place. 

He used the office as a get away, which often worked for him considering the fact that most people wouldn’t be likely to go looking for him there. But since he hadn't been out, he was running low on ideas, which ultimately led to him zoning out and basically falling asleep at his desk.

He let out a sigh, and pushed away from the desk, closing up his sketchbook with one last lingering glance at the blank page before putting it up under his arm. The blonde nudged his chair back in place with his leg, and scanned the room to make sure that everything in his office was nice and neat before leaving the room.

Excessive and unnecessary, but maybe he was just a little OCD, so what? What was the problem with trying to be clean and organized? (A question which he insisted firmly was rhetorical.)

His shoes thumped hollowly against the “wood” floors as made his way out of the office building and over to the parking garage, scanning the spaces for a familiar shine. The bike near the sidewall of the building was standing proudly, sleek black shining even in the dimmed light. He popped up the seat, and in a practiced and easy motion, stored his sketchbook and swung his leg over the bike.  

Steve took a lot of pride in his motorcycle, having found her just left by the side of the road, worn down, and dusty, and had fallen in love with her. She was a World War II era designed bike, and it was painfully evident that the beautiful machine had been abandoned. So, he had loaded her up,  and done his best to fix her up (now, he wasn’t a mechanic, but he had had a bike in the 40’s which made him fairly proficient in the art of an old fashioned tune up- and no Tony I don’t want your help on this-). 

Despite the cost - and the months of work that it took - he never regretted picking up the bike for a single day. There was nothing like the feeling of flying down the road on a motorcycle, powerful, in control, and freeing because it was really as close as he was ever going to get to actually flying without the aid of a plane. 

Of course there were a few instances in which he made a jump out of a plane, something that many would consider a form of free flight, however it wasn't really the same. He wouldn't actually call jumping from a plane flying, it was more like falling. Which in hindsight it was the reality considering that quite a few of those times he didn't actually wear a parachute…

His lips were still turned up in a small smile as he made his way to park at Stark tower, which was now often affectionately referred to as Avengers tower due to the lack of the letters s t r and k. 

So, why would it always be Stark tower? The whole building was ridiculous, which should attribute to the name itself, but it was a huge building with copious amounts of technology littered everywhere. And most, well really, all of that technology had either been made, or tinkered with, by Stark himself.

He turned off his bike, and put down the kickstand, leg swinging over the side, and his foot fell to the concrete. He pulled up the seat once again, and took out his sketch book, taking away the keys, and closing her up as he made his way to the elevator. 

There were plenty of things that he wasn't the fond of in Stark tower, but the biggest things always had to do with the technology. First of all, -he stepped in the shiny elevator, and pressed his floor- he really didn't like the elevator. This thing was a metal death trap. Everyone knew that Tony Stark liked to get things done fast, that included moving from one floor to the next, which meant that even though Steve knew that it was coming he was still shaken as the elevator boosted him up to his floor at a speed that he was sure wasn't safe. Regulation is all relative to Anthony Stark.

As the doors opened he gave his head a small shake, steadying himself, and quickly moved out of the elevator out into a large living area.

"Hey Steve, you're back late."

His bright blue eyes shifted over to the couch, where Hawkeye was sprawled out, making a mess. The usual really. 

Popcorn fell all over the couch and floor as Clint continued to take large handfuls of the food and shove them in his mouth. Now, when Steve said into his mouth, he meant that about 20% of the popped kernels were actually making it to their destination while the others found their home everywhere else.

"Uh yeah...I just...got caught up..." He walked over to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room by a large bar area.

"With what? You hate the office."

"I don't hate it, I just have nothing to do there."

"So what were you doing?"

"Just...sketching." He opened the fridge door, and started to scan the shelves for some leftovers.

"Really? Can I see?"

"Um no."

"Aww come on, why not?"

"I don't ....I just..." Steve hated showing people his artwork. It felt somehow like a breech in his privacy in a way.

"You don't ever let anyone look at them, are you drawing something you shouldn't be?" Clint's voice was teasing, but that didn't stop Steve from straightening up quickly, and looking over at the man.

"No!"

Clint held his hands up, palms out, quite obviously incredibly amused by the reaction. "Fine, fine. You just seem to be hiding something."

"I'm not." He walked back over to the fridge, and pulled out some leftover Chinese. 

" 'Kay, well, could you share that Chinese with me?" Clint beamed at him. The kind of fake innocent beam that meant he just didn’t want to get up to get his own food.

"Fine, yeah, but only a little, I'm starving."

"Yeah, we all know you're capable of eating a horse Stevie~"

He rolled his eyes, but put the food on a plate, and popped it in the microwave. He looked back over to the couch where Clint was still lazing around, shoving popcorn into his mouth. "Where's everyone?"

Clint shrugged. "Tony's in his cave, Natasha's probably out killing something or someone, and Thor and Bruce went out on a pop tart run a little while ago and haven't come back."

"So you've just been here alone?"

"Yup."

Steve was about to make another comment when the microwave went off. He let out a small sigh, and took out the plate, scraping a bit of the food onto a smaller paper plate for Clint. If he wanted more he could get it himself. He grabbed a beer, and a water out of the fridge, then settled on the couch next to Clint. 

"Here." It was almost like a peace offering, though they hardly needed that at this point.

"Oh goody, Chinese and beer, one of my favourites. Thanks for being such a sweetheart."

“Anything edible is your favourite…” Steve found himself rolling his eyes at the endearment, but relaxed back into the couch, turning his attention to the TV. "Is this...Disney?"

"Yep."

"...Okay..." How times have changed...

Clint shoveled some Chinese into his mouth along with a handful of popcorn as a crudely done cartoon started up. "Ish reawwy enner'aining."

Steve raised an eyebrow, and watched about thirty seconds of the episode before moving back into the kitchen. He shot a glance at the clock, 11:45. With a small shake of his head he tucked into his food, cleaning off the plate fairly quickly. 

When he finished he took his plate to the sink and washed it by hand. Yes, they did have a dishwasher, but he found that hand washing the dishes guaranteed that they would be cleaner.

His eyes drifted back up to the clock. 11:52. The blonde hardly thought as he opened up the fridge once again, and got out some cheese, followed by bread and butter. Within about 5 minutes he had a golden brown grilled cheese on a bright red paper plate. He made his way down to the lab, and entered the “Captain America” personal code. Which actually opened the door much to his surprise.

"Tony?"

And there was no response but some ridiculously loud rock music, at least some things never change... He walked further into the lab until he spotted Tony, just a tuft of black, amongst a mix of  metal. "JARVIS, could you turn the music off?"

There was a short reply of, "Yes Captain Rogers", before the music cut off.

"Hey JARVIS what was-" Tony had turned slightly as he continued to talk, stopping as Steve came in his line of view. "Oh, hey Cap. What brings you down to my humble abode?"

"I brought you dinner."

"That's real nice of you, but I have coffee and-" Of course that was his response, Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Real dinner Tony, it's a grilled cheese, so I know you like it."

Tony's eyebrows went up slightly, and his eyes shifted down to the plate that was held out to him, moving his goggles so they were on top of his head. "You made this?"

"Yes, I did."

"And you want me to eat it?"

"I didn't poison it Tony."

The billionaires mouth tilted up slightly. "Yeah, okay, sure you didn't. Put it on the desk. I don't do being handed things."

The blond moved forward slightly, and placed the small plate on the table top, then just stood there. His eyes scanned over the desk, looking at the papers, and wires strewn about the surface. Everything about the lab fascinated him. Electronics may not be his forte, but the lab was a mix of  so many different works of art, the most prominent very possibly being its creator.

"You can go now."

His eyes shifted back up at the mechanic, who was now giving him an expectant look.

"Yeah...right...okay..." He awkwardly stammered out, quickly turning on his heel and power walking out of the lab.


End file.
